I was violet-cheeked anddiamond-hearted; a workof art in reverse,tearing between my ribsand calling it beautiful,

and I wonder now why theynever taught me this in school;the sepia-saturated glow lifegives out some point afteryou’ve realized wishes arefor those who’ve not yetwoken more alone than whenthey went to sleep,

they never taught me allthe reasons why or thatsin tastes sweet. I met

my maker once in a backalleybar, stormy eyes and peppermintbreath, charming off a hangover;he sighed, “I know how manydays it’ll take you to give upcompletely. I know how manydreams you’ve sold away andhow many lies you need toswallow before you can fall asleep.

I know that you’ve never quitegrown up and I know thatyou’re afraid of me” hesmiled silent and downedanother drink, losing himselfin the ramblings of a solipsisticexistence where “I” am finally allthat matters (and sometimes

I believe I was built hollowlike the porcelain dolls I grew upwanting to be. cold to the touch,perfectly fake, shattered

when my little brother wanted to seehow high she could fall;the scars in the wood wereher only memory, my mothergrumbled at the scratches andwaxed them all away) on nights

such as these I like to prymyself open, in hopes that thebutterflies nestled inside my ribswill spread their dusty wings,and they will call it beautiful

when I gray out, colors stainingthe pavement like some rebelliousattempt at leaving a mark,my calling card,

my maker once in a backalleybar, stormy eyes and peppermintbreath, charming off a hangover;he sighed, “I know how manydays it’ll take you to give upcompletely. I know how manydreams you’ve sold away andhow many lies you need toswallow before you can fall asleep"

ZOMG. I'm in awe. wonderfully, wonderfully written. I really enjoy the..humanity of your "maker" it makes for a very interesting concept, and you've described that concept beautifully. A fave.

I've been avoiding poetry in general lately since I feel guilty that it has been so long since my last poem....... But after reading this, I now remember what it means to write poetry again.... It isn't simply a means of using fancy words and rhymes to feign wisdom or experience in life. However, I have never truly thought that. But I remember now, it is a way of freeing the soul and the mind, strained from the weight of stress or life itself. It allows a poet to let it out in a beautiful form despite the sadness it may or may not contain. A poem isn't just read, it should be felt. The reader should feel as if they have just seen into a part of your soul or mind that crys out for the needed recognition of others. It is not always sad, it varies greatly. Much like the different souls and minds of different people.......... Thank you for allowing me to read such a meaningful work of art such as this.